The Press Case
by MorThreeo
Summary: As the years have gone by and encounters encountered, Voldemort is believed dead. By all. But when The Quibbler turns out an article concerning the whereabouts of Voldemort, things get weird and anxiety runs high. Future pairings include HpLL HrD GwZs RwS


Author's note: 

Hey all! Yeah, I know you're probably thinking : Yeah, she's posting another story that she's NEVER going to update, and I'm sure all of you have a lot of legitimate reasoning for thinking that. sigh Hmm, I'm sorry for all those fics that I took off, there was a good reason for that. They sucked. I'm rewriting ALL of my fics, and hoping that they will be better for the effort.

But this time it's different. I AM planning on finishing this, and all of this past year that I basically have NOT updated, has been spent RPGing, and my writing is SO much better as a result. I know I'm using lots of capitals, but what the hey! lol

I hope you enjoy this, as I had a lot of fun writing this, and I'm already planning stuff for this fic that will make it so amusing, yet serious at the same time. Hope you don't mind angst and stuff, cause I'm planning on a lot of that stuff.

And anybody who has read this far is insane, or really bored with their lives.

Have fun!!

* * *

The _Press Case_

Prologue

The day was bright and cloudy, the sun flitting around behind the clouds and teasing the residents who walked the streets below. The slight summer breeze couldn't help but play chase to some ball caps and loose green leaves fallen upon the ground. The smoky blue colour of the sky hinted at the amount of pollution the city not too far away from the rural community was putting out.

A small flat to the east of town had been the brunt of many of the town's joker's antics. The roof was shabby and had a few patched-up holes here and there. The dull red colour of the paint was flaky and falling off in some of the more immediately unseen places. It was raggedy, but it just so happened that one girl called it home; one girl . . .

"Hermione!" the brown-haired girl's mother called from the backdoor. "Telephone!"

Hermione Granger's stubborn head pulled back up from its downward position as she leaned up from dangly angle on the swing. Telephone? Someone calling for her?

Hermione got up gracefully from the curved swing and made her way somewhat slowly towards her mother, walking down the path that made up a small portion of their small backyard. Suddenly the realization hit her and she sprinted up the path towards the door that her mother had left open. Telephone!

Hermione Granger wasn't the type to get many telephone calls. Sure, she was friends with many people – muggle and witch and wizard – who owned telephones, but she never really could keep a conversation up and running without certain motivation. She would often rather think to herself instead of having someone blabbing away in her ear – or there would always be a book she'd have been in the middle of reading, and the fact that it was sitting there waiting for her, made her cut the phone calls as short as possible. Though there was the occasional time when she did like a good gab on a phone; it just depended on the person.

And today was one of them. Hermione hadn't had time to visit the library yet, and she was bored out of her wits. She had finished all of her homework of course, it being the eighth week of summer vacation. Only two more weeks to go . . . !

Hermione strutted happily into the boot room and took off her sandals very quickly. She turned to the door on her right – again which her mother must've left open, for it was unmistakably so – and walked through and into the kitchen.

"Mom?" she called out, asking – beneath her words – which telephone her mother had first picked it up on.

"Upstairs, my room." Came the quick reply. "I'll hang it up though, if you wish to take it in the family room?" she offered.

"Sure mom. Thanks," she responded gleefully, already bounding towards the French doors and through them, into the Granger family room on the left. After she settled into the comfy armchair, she picked the phone up. "Hi. Hermione Granger here. Sorry to keep you waiting so long."

An audible click was heard as Mrs. Granger placed the upstairs phone back in its receiver.

"Hey. It's Harry."

"Harry?" Hermione shot out of the chair and placed her hand on the table to steady herself. She sat back again as he chuckled.

"Yes, it's me Hermione." Harry said.

"Oh Harry, why are you calling me?" Why was Harry calling her?

"Well that's a nice thing to ask, basically first thing."

"Sorry Harry, but it is really unusual."

"Okay. It's fine anyways."

"So why are you calling?"

"I really don't know the answer to that question, Hermione." Harry admitted.

"Harry . . ."

"What Hermione?"

"You're pathetic."

"What?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I meant it in a good way, Harry."

"How in the world could you have meant that in a good way?"

"It was a good way because I was joking."

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"Harry, you're so **dense**. You're my friend. I wouldn't be calling you anything like that seriously, now would I?"

"But you just said I was dense!" he retorted.

She sighed and shifted in her seat. Chuckling suddenly, she changed the subject, not wanting to deal with Harry not getting what she was saying – once again.

"So Harry, why _did_ you call? I don't think you actually answered."

"Isn't a guy allowed to call his best girl friend?" he asked cheekily.

Hermione blushed at the praise. "Well I guess . . ."

She could hear the smirk in his voice as he continued. "So, being as you're always right, and you agreeing with my statement . . . I win."

"Oh you . . ."

"Come on Hermione. Fair is fair. I'm allowed to feel smart too."

"No you're not." She teased.

"Oh come on!"

"I'm kidding Harriett."

"Don't you dare call me that, Horange."

Hermione shuddered at the horrid nickname. "Fine. As long as you don't call me . . . ugh. Horange."

Hermione knew that however many times they would tell each other not to call the other nicknames, they would still do it anyways. It was in some ways a comfort.

"Back to business Potter!"

Harry sighed. When Hermione called him by his last name she was serious. "Fine. Well the reason I called is because Luna told me tha-"

"And how come you were speaking with Luna?" Hermione interrupted. Normally Hermione wouldn't have had any problem with him speaking to other people besides her and Ron, but Harry didn't really have any reason at all to speak with Luna of all people. At the moment it was classified on the same level as Harry dating Malfoy. Luna and Harry had had a huge fight at the beginning of last term over false information her father had printed about Harry in the _Quibbler_ over the summer. Of course, Luna had taken her father's side and point of view.

"Well I . . ." Harry gulped.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, I care about you, and I just don't want to see you hurt again like you were last term."

"Thanks Hermione."

"But that doesn't answer the question of why you were speaking with her."

"Aww . . ."

"Harry . . ."

"Fine. I'll tell you, alright? I was going to tell you anyways."

"Really now."

"You're weird, Hermione." He laughed. "Okay, so I'll tell you. As I was saying . . . The reason I called is because Luna told me her father printed an article."

Hermione raised her brows, though she knew he could not see. "And that is important how? He's an editor and publisher, Harry. That's how he earns his money."

"Yes. I know that." Harry added in quickly. "But you'll never guess."

"I'm sure."

"A journalist of his wrote an article."

"Yes Harry, quit stalling. Get on with it."

"They've found Voldemort."

* * *

Author's note : 

Hey all, hope you liked that lil' tidbit. I'm planning the next chapter, and am looking for a few ideas that I may/may not add in. First reviewer, the next chapter will be dedicated to! (And no beta offers, people, I've already got two insane kids at my school coughTamsy&Lilaccough who read and comment on everything I do. And if they're the first reviewers, it will be dedicated to the NEXT person.


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